I suppose St. Paul is a nice town and all, but spending four straight years there with little to do besides drink handles of Taaka and listen to people filibuster about how smart they supposedly are can get on one’s nerves. Mine, specifically. As a result, I decided to skip town in favor of Budapest, where I am currently living and studying (for lack of a better word). While most people choose to study abroad at slighlty more scenic locales, like Paris or Newark, I’ve found that this place has got quite a bit going for it.
Forget the language: Yeah, you’re supposed to learn the language when you study abroad, but Hungary is an odd place with an equally odd language. It features the usual accents and umlauts, but also these frustrating double-umlaut type deals that can only be pronounced correctly if you’ve just been punched in the mouth. I study Russian back home, so I suppose I’m a glutton for punishment. I’m trying my best to learn Hungarian, but if you are not a linguistic masochist like I am then just forget it. English is only useful in the middle of the city, and people would rather you didn’t use it. Pointing and grunting can suffice for the weak, but I tend to stick with Russian. Upon hearing Russian, shopkeepers tend to quicken the pace of your transaction, for fear that if they don’t you’ll send in the tanks again.
Notice people’s names: They do it Asian style here, with the last name first, hence Béla Bartok was actually named Bartok Béla, and Eddie Van Halen becomes Halen Van Eddie should he ever decide to visit me here. The most common men’s name in Hungary is Nagy János. I cannot think of another country on Earth with the balls to assign to around fifteen percent of the male population a name that translates literally to “Big John.”
The dogs here are really fat: I have no idea what they’re feeding these things; the whole city is covered with mutts built like Al Roeker. Hungarian people are quite slim; I always felt all bony and gaunt in the States but these folks make me look like a goddamn whale. It’s strange because a visit to the market gives one the impression that the locals feast upon pork organs all day. I guess they feed all that stuff to the dogs, which consequently look like fucking dirigibles. They do have regular dog food here, however. (My favorite brand is “Chappi.”)
Sima Viz is for idiots: “Sima Viz” means “plain water,” and it’s what Americans ask for in restaurants when they want a glass of tap water like back home. Hungary, like most of Europe, does not follow this tradition and ordering water usually means bottled mineral water, for which you obviously must pay. All of my American friends here get all mopey about this, complaining that even when they request sima viz they get presented with a two-hundred Forint bottle of Theodora. Look, they do things differently here, so just follow local custom, pay for the water, and quit your whining, you cheap bastards. Besides, sima viz tastes like a cat bathed in it.
Don’t wear barrettes if you’re a guy: It seems simple enough, but some of us had to learn the hard way. People here are still ready to hassle, taunt, and shove you on the streets if they even suspect you may be slightly swishy. Thus, I have removed my beloved hair clips except for when I’m with some of my larger friends. (Side Note: I would like to note that despite my lack of presence on campus, no other males should therefore assume that they too can sport such accessories. This is my job. You shall all be free to gaze lovingly at my greasy black mane upon my return.)
Smoke and drink: You do this at home anyway, so take advantage of the low prices. A pack of smokes costs 390 Forint (or four billion Turkish Lire, if you’re into that sort of thing), and tasty beer can be had for 125 (that comes to $1.52 and 46 cents, respectively), not that the technicolor party-streamers they call currrency here mean anything to you anyway.
Be sure to make note of the complete lack of liquor laws; bars can serve all night should they choose to (as I’m stumbling out at seven, old men come in to drink their breakfast) and there exist no laws concerning open containers. My roommate Johanna likes to drink beer on the tram but I think it’s because she’s Bavarian. The beer’s wonderful and the Marlboros taste better than they do back home, though do watch out for Árany Ások, the Hungarian equivalent of Busch Light. It only costs about a quarter for a can large enough to be used as a weapon, so I drink it anyway. Note to clove smokers: they don’t sell cloves here, so my advice is to get a haircut and quit acting like a dope.
Understand the monetary system: The Hungarian unit of currency is called the Forint, and these days there are about 257 to the dollar. This favorable rate of exchange mean that you can afford anything in this country, though, noting the above passage, I must admit that I spend most of money on cigarettes and booze. Because of their odd plural system, it’s still “Forint” no matter how many you speak of, because they only use such plurals when referring to an indefinite amount. The bills have really neat pictures on them, especially the 500 Forint note, which features some historic fellow who was apparently partial to fezes and moustaches.
Go to the gay bars: These are fun even for the straight and those of us somewhere in between: Americans get lousy service and sneers at regular bars, but seeing as how gays are shunned by Hungarians as well they’re always friendly towards other “unwanted” elements of society. You can even make out with Hungarian men if you want, because they’re handsome and it’s gross when girls have stubble. But I guess its even grosser when males have boobies.
Don’t make the “but we saved your lousy asses in World War II!” remark: Yeah, I know it works so well in France, but remember that these guys were on the other side. They lost, and they’re still pretty touchy about it.
Get aquainted with the public transportation system: Trust me, its worth it. The transportation here is second to none, with metros, trams, trolleys, and buses serving the entire city. Plus, the entire setup works on the “honor system,” meaning that you only have to pay if you are stopped by the transit police, who issue you a ten dollar ticket that you don’t have to pay. Don’t tell me that Soviet influence is good for nothing. Plus, the metro stops have amusing names, such as “Oktogon,” and, my personal favorite, “Pöttyös utca.”
Get used to public displays of affection: I must admit that I’m skittish about even holding hands in public back in the States, but folks here do everything short of passionate intercourse on the subway, street corners, malls, and just about everywhere but their bedrooms. My program director tells me that this is because real estate is tight, and people tend to live with their families for a long time; hence no time or place to get busy. I doubt this is true, because I’m renting a lovely apartment in a Stalin-esque high-rise for less than I paid for 1515 Selby, although my roommate never wants to do anything like that. Once, I saw this guy getting jacked off on the trolley. I thought it was gross but he seemed to be enjoying it.
Make friends with Europeans: That’s why you came here, dingus. There are plenty of other Americans waiting for you in Minnesota. My newest pal is this guy named Ricardo: he likes to smoke dope and watch soccer. He’s Italian and claims to be some sort of Count or Duke or something. He’s dressed pretty nicely and I guess the dope money has to come from somewhere.
Lastly, don’t bitch about the toilet paper: Yes, the rumors are true and it does feel like sandpaper. That being said, my butt has never been so clean.
That should be all you need should you too tire of the Midwest and decide to jet off to a place where the bread’s much better and the people hate you. Should you need to reach me, look for the guy drinking vodka at the Blaha Lujza tér tram stop.
